Nikolo #2
“I… I don’t think I’ll mind. Sure, there’s some fear there, obviously, or I wouldn’t have reacted like I did last time. But that was like inoculation. I had a little taste and it wasn’t terrible.” Kroy snorts and I pull a face, waving off his immaturity.
“And,” I carry on pointedly, “I learnt that I don’t have to resort to shitty old habits and behaviour when things go tits up. It kinda sucked worse than the thing I was running from if I’m honest.”
Kroy looks satisfied with my answer. “But you two aren’t together?”
I shrug. “We’ve talked about it a little? But there’s more than just the clan stuff. He’s a mage. I’m a vampire. It’s not exactly like things can be long term between us.”
“These things can be overcome, you know.”
I do know. Turning.
“I could never ask him to do that.” That would be the same kind of selfishness they always accused me of back as a kid.
It’s the type of thing the clan could never forgive me for.
My stomach clenches again. “It doesn’t matter anyway.
It’s not… it’s not what this is about. I just wanted to get the milk powder. ”
“Boy, you wake me up at 2 a.m., you better make time to sit and give me the gossip.” Kroy rolls his eyes and finishes his drink. “He even know you’re coming?”
“Uh, no. Now that I think of it? I sent a quick message but…”
Kroy stands, scoffing and taking our dishes to the sink. “I’ll message Egbert to unlock the shop. You go help your man.”
I don’t bother trying to correct him and rush out the door into the night.
Egbert meets me at the door of the shop, half dressed and too asleep to really question why I’m there. Thank the Gods because I don’t think I’m ready for another grilling from a pseudo-father figure right now.
“Think he’s asleep. Gave him tea two hours ago.
Shoulda knocked him out, but he’s in for a rough couple of days.
He warded me from going in so I don’t catch it.
Could kill the idiot that brought the damned charm in.
” Egbert grumbles behind me up the stairs.
I only grunt with his sentiments and up the pace, taking two stairs at a time.
If he’s asleep and comfortable enough, I reason with myself, I’ll just leave the milk powder and the instructions, and I’ll leave.
I repeat my self imposed deal to myself as I part ways with Egbert and make my way into Willan's apartment. Slipping my way easily through the dark, I go straight to Willan's room and know immediately, I’m not leaving.
Sweaty and clammy, he’s asleep on his black silky sheets, writhing uncomfortably.
“Oh, shit.” I don’t mean to say it, it just slips out.
It’s shocking to see him so completely wretched. Being sick is an extra special hell for beings. Unlike humans, who seem to get sick at the drop of a hat, beings rarely get sick. So when they do go down, they go down hard.
“Nik’lo?” Willan’s voice is dry. His lips already look cracked. “Wha’ doin’ here?”
His hair is a matted mess of half unwound braids when he lifts his head to blearily try and look at me. It’s too much effort, though, and his head drops heavily once again with a prolonged groan.
I’m beside the bed quicker than a blink, climbing on carefully so as not to rock him too much.
“Wanted to bring you the tea. Where does it hurt?”
My hand hovers over his bare chest. I’m too scared to touch him in case I somehow make it worse.
If it’s rare for beings to get sick, it’s rarer still for vamps, so I’m not scared about catching it myself.
It’s just been so long since I’ve been anything other than perfectly healthy, I’ve kind of forgotten what to do.
Willan groans pathetically, and I let my hand drop gently to where his chest meets his belly, where the sheets are all tangled up.
“Everywhere.” He grumbles, his face scrunching up.
“Do—do you need a doctor? Or—” Willan's hand blindly pats around his chest until he finds my hand, covering it with his and squeezing weakly.
“Gods, you feel good.” He mutters. “Need tea.”
I smile and pat his chest, his hands falling off mine and flopping to the side. He’s snoring by the time I get to the door, but I make the tea anyway, if only to make myself feel better.
Willan has enough herbs to fill sixteen apothecaries, I swear to the Gods, so it takes me a while to get the tea made and then clean up the mess I’ve made.
I also made too much, being completely out of practice at this shit, so I have to waste even more time digging out something to put it in.
I say a little thank you to the Gods when I find a large travel mug in his cupboards with a ‘keeps drinks hot for eight hours!’ sticker on it.
At least then, I tell myself, he can have some more when I’m out for the day.
My trip back to the bedroom is painfully slow with the overfilled mug.
The warm, lightly spiced chocolate scent tickles my nose, reminding me of a hundred different memories at once and giving me a funny sense of déjà vu.
Willan is still sprawled on his back snoring when I push the door to the room open, but he rouses when I walk in, and even though his eyes are open and he’s trying to push himself up on to one elbow, he’s still somehow snoring.
And that’s how I know I’m completely fucked, because even congested and sweaty and disgusting, with his hair a mess and red puffy eyes, my stomach still does a little flip when I see him. He’s still utterly beautiful.
He runs a hand through his hair, wincing when his fingers snag on the snarled mess. “You are here.” His voice is still croaky like he’s dying of thirst. “I thought I was hallucinating.”
Exhausted from the little effort he’s exuded, he slumps back to the bed, a weak smile on his lips.
“I’m sorry I woke you up.” I keep my voice soft, carefully placing the mug on the bedside table and sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Worth it. Wasn’t sleeping well anyway.”
My lack of experience in nursing someone who’s sick makes me fidgety. With no other real reference, I do what my mum always did to make me feel better when I was a kid. Careful to not pull on any knots, I stroke his hair back from his forehead, tucking it behind his ear.
Willan nuzzles into my hand when I cup his cheek, my thumb stroking over his cheekbone. “I—I made the tea? If you want it?”
That perks him up, as much as it can. His eyes, which were fluttering shut, flare open again. “Gods.” His moan is pathetic, and rather sweet. “Yes, please.”
He must be keen because he withstands my snickering and my awkward assistance getting him sitting up against the black padding of his headboard.
Once he’s settled, with his pillows piled up behind him and the quilt he’s kicked off back over his lap, I hesitate, not entirely sure what to do with myself.
“Get in the damned bed, Nikolo.” Willan whines, his head rolling against the pillows and raising his hands just high enough to make grabby hands. “And give me the tea.”
I don’t get under the covers with him—I came straight from work. He might be ranking up his bed, but I don’t need to add to it. I do sit on top of the covers next to him, though, enjoying the way he automatically leans into me.
“I hope it’s okay. I mean, I couldn’t taste it or anything, and it’s been years but—”
“Shut up and give it to me, Nikolo.” Willan grunts and groans and gives a horribly rattly cough that brings back my nerves again while I raise the tea to his lips. He cups my hands to hold it steady and slowly he takes a sip.
I watch his throat work thickly, and the terrible grimace as he swallows.
“Fuck, did I fuck it up? I’m sorry—” Willan holds my hands in place when I try to take the mug away.
“It’s perfect. Just like I remember.” Willan sighs happily, his face relaxing. “Just hurts to swallow.”
“Did you want to wait then?” I offer, but he shakes his head.
“No. Sometimes a little pain’s worth it.” Willan smiles and presses on my hands so I tip the mug. It’s slow going, but he manages to get half the chocolatey tea down before he’s had enough.
“Thank you.” He sighs, his body collapsing in exhaustion, his face mushed into my chest. “What time is it?”
“Gimme a sec.” I push him back just enough to pull off my top so he doesn’t have to inhale all the alcohol fumes and shimmy out of my pants. Then I resettle him on my chest, wrapping my arm around his shoulders and tugging him close. “It’s late. Like, three in the morning.”
Willan sighs, nuzzling into me and throwing an arm over my waist. “Stay?” He asks, already dozing back off. “Please?”
Kissing the top of his hair, right on one of the unravelling braids, I squeeze his shoulder.
His place isn’t secure, I know that. The heavy black draped curtains may look impenetrable, but they aren’t vamp rated.
But I could stay somewhere. It wouldn’t be the first time I spent the day in a closet for safety.
And at least this time, it’d be for someone worth it.
“Yeah, I’ll stay.” I take my promise literally, for as long as I can. Scrolling on my phone until he’s in something resembling a peaceful sleep, I can’t take feeling scungy from work anymore and I need a shower.
It takes some digging through his stuff, which I don’t feel a lick of guilt over, to find a pair of black sleep pants made of Mazheri spun fabric.
I don’t bother with underwear. I also don’t think I can just lie in the bed until the sun comes up, so I end up tidying up his living room where he dumped his stuff when he came home, put his phone on charge, and do the few dishes in the sink.
Still not done, and on a mission to make him feel as good as possible when he wakes up and I’m dead for the day, I root around in his fridge until I strike gold with a handful of vegetables in the crisper and hand made dumplings in the freezer.
Of course Willan has fresh vegetables in his fridge.
He’s such an adult about everything. I get lost roughly halfway through my impromptu soup making endeavour but a quick search on my phone gets me over the hurdles and soon enough it’s simmering away on his stove, filling the apartment with yet another familiar smell of my childhood.
The mountain got damned cold in the winter—we ate a lot of soup growing up.
I get it all boxed up in the fridge in the perfectly matching containers in Willan’s cupboards and all traces of my efforts cleaned up and get back to Willan in the bed.
The moment my ass hits the sheets he’s barnacled to me.
It’s immediately obvious that he’s naked when he throws a leg over my thigh and half climbs on top of me.
Because I’m not dead yet, my dick reacts at his proximity and the friction, but I ignore it, grabbing one of the books from the pile beside the bed.
It’s a heavy ass, dry book about the vampire rights movement over the last century.
In fact, I realise, looking over the stack of books, they’re all on vampires, each with colourful sticky tabs sticking out the side.
A half smile tugging at my lips, I settle into the bed with Willan’s lightly snoring face pressed into my chest until I feel the first stirrings of sunrise.
“Nooo.” Willan grumbles. Getting out of bed feels like fighting an octopus with the way he keeps clinging to me any way he can. I don’t want to leave him, either. In fact, I hate it. What if something happens and I’m just there, dead in his wardrobe? What if he needs me?
But it would be worse to have him wake up to my fried remains, so I dig out a pen and some paper and find some sticky tape in the kitchen.
VAMP IN WARDROBE I write in big black letters, sticking it to the door with twice the tape I need. Every vamp’s heard horror stories about someone’s maker’s maker’s friend’s, clan mate or cousin being crispified from being careless with the dawn. I’m not about to be someone's horror story.
Once all of his shoes are carefully relined up outside the wardrobe, I climb inside. At least my hiding place smells like him, not that it matters when the sun rises and the world disappears.